Just Things
by briwd
Summary: When Gibbs finds himself in a parallel reality, he's reminded of what he lost, what he has, and what's truly important. Set days after NCIS 11x24, and written for NFA's Ficlet Challenge.


**The near future**

Outwardly, Gibbs looked impassive. He neither smiled nor frowned, his eyes didn't twinkle, his mouth didn't fly open at the wonders around him. He acted like he had seen it all before and had been there a million times.

Gibbs had one hell of a poker face, and he was going all out to maintain it.

Above all else, the NCIS agent wanted to be on top of things: what was going on, and why; what his options were; and, above all else, where he and his people were at all times.

There was, for Gibbs, a calmness that came with being in control of the situation, of knowing how people and things operated, of what he could and could not influence.

Where things went bad, Gibbs could rely on the necessity for order to keep his composure, and on his personality to impose calm on others.

He was well aware of the situations he and his team would likely find themselves in, and prepared enough for the less-likely scenarios that may come their way.

Or so he kept telling himself.

The building in front of him looked like the one he had worked in for years.

The immediate area around him looked like the Navy Yard.

The city he was in looked like Washington.

The date for the ZNN website on the tablet they had given him said May 27, 2014.

Things looked the same today as they did yesterday…except where they didn't.

Joyce drove a six-year-old SUV, not a Tesla hydrogen sedan.

Suarez never wore a watch, and not one with holographic 3-D figures jumping off his wrist (Gibbs ducked from the ball jumping off the batter's bat).

Andrews still worked security, with the arm he lost during the bombing.

Gibbs had become adept at noticing details, and the little things here screamed out to him that this wasn't home.

Andrews said something about getting a new arm at Johns Hopkins after the bombing; Gibbs thought the man must be joking, as the arm looked normal. Gibbs wasn't aware of Johns Hopkins University Hospital having a prothestics program, nor of prothestics that looked as real as any part of the human anatomy.

Suarez's Dick Tracy watch included a picture of his family from three weeks ago during vacation in Tampico, which wasn't possible, because Janet died of cancer eight months ago and Gabrielle, their daughter, suffered from spina bifida.

Joyce said she "flew for the very first time" over the Mall Sundy afternoon, and the way she told the tale, she flew like Superman.

Andrews and Suarez acted like they knew of him but had never met him.

Joyce – whom Gibbs had known since joining NIS – looked like she had seen a ghost.

All were pleasant, and all were the only three people who stopped to talk to him. He called out to a few other familiar faces, but they either didn't know him, thought someone was filming a TV movie or – in the case of Louie - demanded what his problem was.

Louie's hollering brought Andrews out to investigate, and in turn eventually led to Director Vance showing up.

Gibbs addressed Vance by name and asked what this was all about.

Vance in turn stopped cold, stared at Gibbs hard, and had Andrews talk with him while placing a couple of phone calls just out of earshot.

Gibbs liked to be in control, to understand what was going on around him. After they explained it to him, Gibbs' gut churned with an uncertainty he had never felt.

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked Vance in the conference room. "He's into this science-fiction stuff. He could explain things."

Vance looked down, then back up.

"Timothy McGee…hasn't worked for the agency since 2005," Vance replied.

"Then can you bring him in from his new job?"

Vance shook his head. Gibbs looked at his eyes and demeanor, and finally figured out why that wouldn't be possible.

"What about DiNozzo?"

Vance had the same sullen expression.

"Abby…_Ziva_, Ducky…Palmer..._Kate_…"

Ditto.

"What about Eleanor Bishop?"

Vance's expression improved from sullen to inquisitive.

"I hired her from NSA months ago, Leon. Works on my team, here in Washington."

"We don't have a Bishop," Vance said, carefully, then sat back and waited for the next people or persons the older man might reference.

Gibbs sat silently, trying to piece things together from the clues he had been given.

"You're just as perplexed as I am," Gibbs said to Vance. "If I'm right, you haven't seen me—"

"—ever," Vance said. "I haven't seen Leroy Jethro Gibbs in person since I returned from Europe."

Both men sat in silence for several moments.

"_Where_am I, Leon?"

Vance pulled a tablet out of his briefcase and put it on the table, then tapped on his wrist watch a few times, and laid it in front of Gibbs, before pushing the tablet towards him.

"Your – his – case file is on that tablet," Vance said. Gibbs knew enough to swipe pages on a tablet.

He read the whole thing once, the section on 2005 twice.

"Now I know why they're not…here," Gibbs said, softly. "And him. How many?"

"Ari went after everyone," Vance replied. "In all, 47, including three who survived the initial assaults and later died. Special task force took out Ari in August '05. Two of them work in Los Angeles."

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee.

"When can I go home, Director?"

Vance took his tablet and tapped up an email. "Langley says at least 96 hours. In the meantime, people have questions for you and I'm sure you have some yourself. That thing in the sky-"

"Doesn't really _matter_, Director," Gibbs said. "Just things. What really matters are the _people_. The ones I would have wanted to meet, besides yourself, they're all dead."

Vance tapped on his phone and looked at the picture of Jackie, the kids, and himself, then whispered a prayer of gratefulness.


End file.
